


Flames of Rebellion

by AngeNoir



Series: Inktober 2018 [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Death Eaters, Dystopia, Gen, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-25 23:16:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16207724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngeNoir/pseuds/AngeNoir
Summary: He lived in the crumbling remains, trying to eke out some level of existence. It wasn't going badly, either.Until his luck took a turn for the worse.





	Flames of Rebellion

**Author's Note:**

> I was prompted on this one, and it didn't turn out anything like I wanted it too. x.x I feel like I haven't picked the correct perspective/narrator, but as this is the third iteration, i'm gonna stick with it.
> 
> (you can also prompt me [here](http://outercorner.tumblr.com/post/178781853460/how-about-harry-potter-and-29-on-the-post)!)

The world was - was so different. It was torn apart, bleeding at the seams. Once He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named rose to prominence, and the First Battle failed so miserably, well.

He was just a Squib, living almost entirely in the Muggle world. He couldn’t do much, not without any magic, and so instead of living in a world where he was virtually dependent for anything to happen, he had made the migration into the Muggle world and lived there happily.

Now, the Muggle world was decimated, the Muggles unable to react to the first decisive blows He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had struck. Main cities were utterly wiped from the map, and now people took refuge in the rubble and remains.

Normally, he wouldn’t be thinking on such dark things. He’d gotten this far by simply putting one foot in front of the other, focused on nothing but survival.

Today, however, he didn’t have the luxury of thinking about something else, even something so banal as living to the next day. Today, some young Death Eaters had descended on the debris left of Bath, where he had taken to living in the depressing remains of a once long-standing and historic site. Today, he had needed supplies, and it was rainy enough that he figured no one would be around.

Today, he had been wrong.

He was running, and it was worse, in a way - they could catch him, kill him, without all this, without him trying to run and them following behind, laughing and jeering behind their faceless masks. He had nothing else to do but run.

He skidded and tripped, breath pounding in his lungs, terrified, and when he rounded one corner he slammed into a hard, broad chest.

Brilliant red hair flamed in the twilight, and the one-eared man stared at him stoically.

He had just long enough to be terrified, sure that this man was about to kill him - until the man grinned, and winked.

“Doin’ alright, mate?” the man said, voice deep and soft, as he pulled out a wand. “‘Course you’re not, you got these tossers on your tail.”

Before he could answer - or, really, do anything but stare, the man whirled his right arm clear of the dusty cloak that hovered over mud-stained and splattered boots, thick rough trousers, and a belt hung heavy with numerous items.

“You may wanna duck, mate,” he said easily, and, well, he hadn’t lived these past six months without being quick on the draw. He dropped down as the man stabbed his wand into the air, shooting light out at the Death Eaters.

He watched in awe as this man threw out what looked like lightning from the tip of his wand, and when he turned to watch the spell hit, he blinked.

It looked like he was seeing double.

Another red-haired man, as gritty and grimy as this one, was sending crossfire to ensure that the spells actually hit.

“Doin’ alright?” the man called out.

“Just tryin. to get these wankers t’back off,” the other man said, laughing, and it was a stunning sight to see - rangy legs, lean body shape, dusters flaring around ankles as they danced around the spells, shot off their own.

“You didn’ think th resistance was gone, did you?” the secondary one said, laughing and nimbly jumping around two curses.

““Nah, mate, it just went underground,” his savior drawled.

They made a stunning sight against the twilight sky, the last vestiges of sunlight making their red hair glow like flames, their shoulders dropping as they tag-teamed the last Death Eater.

“You gotta name?” the first one asked.

Licking his lips, he mumbled, “R-Robert.”

Reaching out, grasping his hand, the second one said warmly, “Pleased ta meet ya, Robert. I’m Forge, this is Gred, and we’ll be yer saviors today. Thank you for taking the Weasley express.”


End file.
